


my favorite color is red

by sabinelagrande



Series: Blood Money [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Captivity, Consent Issues, Dark!Erik, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control... Control, Shaving, razor blades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's effortless for Erik; most of the hard work is on Charles's end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my favorite color is red

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify: This is a bit out of order, so this installment takes place a good while after the last one. Expect plenty in between.

 Yes, but you see, the thing about being held by Erik is that: 

Charles knows that Erik holding the razor in his hand or holding it with his power, they’re exactly the same thing; it’s entirely possible that Erik has _more_ control over it when he's not physically touching it.

That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be incredibly terrifying to see the razor coming towards him, seemingly of its own volition. It wouldn’t be coming on slowly, either; Erik would be walking towards him, and the razor would beat him there, hovering an inch or so from Charles’s neck.

Erik would move it away as he sat down in front of Charles and lathered his neck and chin, but then it would be right back, waiting.

Charles would tense up the moment the razor’s edge pressed against him. Erik would drag it across his skin excruciatingly slowly, and Charles would be trying so hard not to move, trying not to even breathe; he’s seen Erik stop a bullet, so certainly stopping the razor from cutting him would be nothing.

It’s just that Charles isn’t sure he _would_ stop it.

Erik would finally lift the blade, and Charles would sigh, shuddering. He’d try to move away, instinctively, but it would be a mistake; Erik would just grab his chin in his hand and pull him back in again.

“I’m doing this because you want it,” he’d tell Charles; it’s something he’d say to Charles a lot. “Don’t make me regret having indulged you.”

Charles wouldn’t speak, just swallow hard and nod, and then Erik would lift the razor again. He'd press it to Charles's skin over and over; he'd do it effortlessly, almost like an afterthought, his eyes focused on Charles's mouth.

Finally he'd lower the razor, setting it down beside him. He'd pick up one of the soft cloths he keeps for just this purpose, wetting it in the basin and wringing it out; he'd be gentle with it as he wiped Charles's face, enough so that Charles would shut his eyes, enjoying the warm, soothing touch. He'd pick up a dry one and repeat the process, leaving Charles's face smooth and clean. He'd lay a hand on the side of Charles's face, rubbing his thumb lightly over Charles's lower lip, pushing in just a little; there would be a kind of pride in his eyes, the way he looks at Charles sometimes when he's done something particularly good or obedient. Charles's tongue would dart out to lap at Erik's thumb, and Erik's eyes would only get darker, more satisfied. 

And then Charles would know that the easy part was over.

"Lie back and spread your legs," Erik would say, taking his hand away; Charles would hesitate the slightest bit, but it would be enough, enough for Erik to reach out and slap him on the thigh. "Not very smart to disobey someone with a straight razor at his disposal."

Charles would do as he said, biting his lip as he settled back onto the bench, the cushions on it keeping his head up just far enough that he could see what's coming. If this is going to happen to him, he'd much prefer to be tied down; he's already helpless, but it would be so much better if he couldn't move, couldn't accidentally hurt himself, since he can't do anything about Erik hurting him. He'd try to think it at Erik as hard as he could, images of thigh cuffs made of the thick brushed metal that Erik prefers for restraints, but the neural inhibitor would stop him, just like every time.

"Wider," Erik would say, picking up the lather brush again, and Charles would do it, no hesitation this time, for fear of further reprisal. Erik would work the brush against the soap slowly, just to make Charles squirm, but he wouldn't _really_ be squirming until Erik leaned forward, swiping the brush on the skin around his cock. It would be so hard not to move, to run as the razor came at him again, but moving this time might be even worse.

Charles would want to squeeze his eyes shut, but it's not the best idea; he wouldn't want to see but he'd have to look, has to be watching so that the first stroke of the razor doesn't startle him, make him jump and cut himself- he's already learned that lesson the hard way. Erik would wait about an eternity before he did it, before he finally scraped the razor across Charles's skin. It would be terrifying, absolutely terrifying, and he couldn't take his eyes away.

Then suddenly it would be so much worse, because then Erik would take Charles's cock into his hand. It's one thing to need to move it, to get it out of the way, but this wouldn't be that. Erik would wrap his hand around it, stroking it slowly, his grip firm. Charles wouldn't be hard to start with, but he'd get there in no time, moaning softly as Erik worked his cock.

And the razor would still be moving and moving, clearing Charles's skin little by little. 

There would be a kind of horrible rhythm to it; Erik would have to rinse the razor at some point, and it would be Charles's only chance to move, to press up into Erik's hand. A few moments of that and he'd have to stop again, fast enough that it almost wouldn't be worth it. Then right when Charles almost couldn't stand it anymore, Erik would take the razor away, rinsing it one more time, and Charles would know exactly what was coming.

The razor would come at him again and Erik would stroke him faster, his hand going tighter. The blade would press against the skin of his thigh this time, but it wouldn't stop. The cut wouldn't have to be deep, not that Charles could tell the difference, not when he was shaking, coming all over his freshly shaven skin.

He would still be panting when Erik took his hand away, picking up the cloth and wetting it again, washing the lather and hair and come off of him. "Thank you," Charles would say, breathlessly, just like he's supposed to, and Erik would smile at him, wide, lots of teeth.

And Charles would be left with one more long red line, one more mark just for Erik to see.


End file.
